The escalators run, the lifts go up and down, the fire alarm rings when it should. Wes, the handover manager, is delighted.
Wes: Lovely. Where are the certificates?
The back alley's bill so far: 142 weeks · See the bill
The escalators run and the alarms ring. I'm the proof they were tested. Without me, nobody is allowed to open the doors.
The wrong way
The escalators run, the lifts go up and down, the fire alarm rings when it should. Wes, the handover manager, is delighted.
Wes: Lovely. Where are the certificates?
Wes goes looking. The electrician's certificate is in his van, on the dashboard, under yesterday's lunch.
The escalator supplier emailed theirs to someone who's left. The testing firm's is in a ring binder, in a cabin, somewhere.
Before the centre can open, the client's team asks to see the test certificates. Grace, the client's asset manager, folds her arms.
Grace: No certificates, no opening.
The last Saturday before Christmas. The Glasshouse sits there, finished, tested and locked. The old Precinct takes the whole crowd on its own, and its oldest escalator gives up.
Two weeks later, the last certificate turns up in the ring binder, behind the biscuit tin. The doors open. The car park fills.
A centre that works, that nobody's allowed to open, next to a 1986 one doing all the trading.
+2 weeks on the back alley's bill: Certificates in six places: a tested centre left locked for two weeks while they were found.